


Under One Roof

by SMalady



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Friendship, Love, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24440317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SMalady/pseuds/SMalady
Summary: He resisted rolling his eyes. "Yes. Hadn't you heard?" He waved his arms around him. "Harry Potter’s Home for Knocked Down Death Eaters."There are shenanigans brewing in 12 Grimmauld Place. Can Potter and Malfoy live under one roof without killing each other?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Under One Roof](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/626323) by S.Malady. 



Harry Potter pulled himself out of his muggy dreams only to wake up in his stuffy bedroom with a storm beating against the windowpane. Lightning briefly lit up the cramped space as he blinked groggily to glance around. Just a nightmare, he thought to himself. He swallowed to wet his sandpapery throat before falling back into his sweat-soaked pillows. But just as he curled onto his side, the loud pounding started up again. 

Not a dream. 

He bolted upright in bed and snatched his wand from under the pillow. Thunder rolled outside but the hammering at his front door was deafening. He struggled out of his twisted sheets and jammed his glasses against his face before stumbling out of the dark bedroom and into the corridor, down the stairs and towards the foyer. The door was rattling in its hinges. He brought his wand up at the ready. Taking a moment to compose himself, he twitched the wand, throwing the door open. 

Just as lightning flashed ominously, a figure staggered in, drenched. It bumped into the coat stand and, in an attempt to right itself, proceeded to fall instead, taking the coat stand with it. It fell to its knees before collapsing completely onto the floor. Motionless. 

Harry slowly let out the breath he had been holding. 

He shuffled forward, still blinking away the sleep from his eyes. He sidled past the huddled figure to get to the open door where the storm raged outside. He gripped the door jamb and peered at the dimly lit street. Empty. The torrential downpour had caused rivulets to run beside and around the gutters. A person would be mad to get caught in this unusual storm. There seemed to be no sign of the rain letting up either. He stepped back and shut the front door, muffling the pitter-patter of raindrops behind it. 

Then he turned around to face the figure on the floor. Redoubling his hold on his wand, he approached it. A nagging thought in the back of his mind told him he was still dreaming. It must be a dream. He knelt down. With a gentle wave of his wand, he lit the chandelier in the foyer. 

His heart dropped when he recognized the unconscious face. 

* * *

Draco Malfoy stirred restlessly on the musty couch, looking very much worse for wear. His right eye was swollen shut, his lips were split in three places, there were cuts all over his hands, a slash across his chest, a wrist broken, and a few ribs cracked. 

Harry paced in front of the roaring fireplace. 

What if Malfoy needed actual medical attention, not just a patch up job? Should he be at St. Mungo's? What if he died on the couch? Then Harry would have a real mess on his hands. He abruptly faced the fire. Hermione. But then he shook his head. Bad idea. One look at Malfoy and she would throw common sense out the window. A lot of people did that after one look at Malfoy. He glanced back at the man. He wouldn't be surprised if that was exactly what had happened that night. Some drunken mob wanting revenge. It didn't matter that the war had ended over ten years ago, or that justice should be left to the Magical Law Enforcement officers to deal out, or that all parties involved with the Dark Army had already been through Wizengamot, either ending up imprisoned or on probation. Harry ran a hand through his untamed hair as he continued to pace. He had tried his best to clean up Malfoy's injuries. At least his face was no longer blood covered, the salve should take care of the scarring, and his wrist didn’t appear to be in two pieces. 

Harry really wished he could call Hermione. 

He tried to remember the last time he had seen Malfoy. It must have been right after the war ended. At the time, his bitterness was strong and palpable. He hadn't even acknowledged the teen's presence in court. That family deserved whatever was dealt to them, he had thought then. But now, seeing Malfoy stumble into his home in the middle of the night, he couldn't help but feel abject pity. How the mighty had fallen. 

* * *

Draco was running. 

He was always running. 

Lost and blind, he ran through the unforgiving maze in his head. Blackness surrounded him as he struck wall after wall in an attempt to escape. Every inch of him ached but still he ran. Blood rushed against his ears, rendering him deaf to his own footsteps. If only he could- 

He saw a flare of red before him. 

He scrambled towards it. 

His eyes fluttered open as he fell out of the maze. 

Sunlight filtered through a crack in the thick maroon curtain, striking him. He tried to blink against it, but it was difficult. He brought a hand up to his swollen eye, then to his painfully dry lips. 

He struggled up off the couch in a flash, letting out a gasp when his ribs protested. His vision started to fade and a wave of nausea crashed into him. He crumpled back into the seat while clutching his head. He had to remember. What had happened to him? How did he get here? He paused. Where was ‘here’? Frantically he swept his eye around the empty room where he blearily saw antique furniture and a dying fire in the ornate fireplace. Above the fireplace was an old portrait of two regal aristocrats dressed in ball gowns. They were blinking disdainfully down at him, painted lips pursed tight. Deep maroon velvet drapes hung down to the floor from windows lining one wall. A discolored rug lay under his feet, spanning the expanse of the large room. A cobwebbed chandelier hung above him, unlit. And a flicker of motion at the corner of his eye made him glance at the doorway where Harry Potter stood, appearing slightly taken aback. 

Memories flooded back into Draco's mind. 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck when he saw horror wash over Malfoy's face. He had figured as much. He shrugged and said, "I'm just as surprised as you are." 

Draco shuddered as another wave of nausea hit him. 

Harry didn't even have to think twice. "First door on the right," he said as Draco rushed past him. He cringed when he heard retching in the bathroom. He wandered into the drawing room, leaving Malfoy to his business. 

Draco wiped his mouth and rested the back of his head against the cool tile behind him as he caught his breath. An unbelievable nightmare, that’s all this was. He pressed a hand against his fevered forehead. 

Why had he run to Potter at the first sign of trouble? He cursed his instincts. Why was it always Potter? He screwed his eyes shut as humiliation crushed him from the inside. He just wanted to curl into an insignificant ball and disappear through a crack in the wall, never to be heard from again. 

He frantically searched his pockets for his wand to do just that. Or at least do the next best thing, which would be to disapparate and forget this ever happened. 

His wand wasn't on him. 

Dejected, he sat on the bathroom floor, all hope lost. He inspected his broken-now-mended wrist. He touched his painful ribs, feeling the gauze running diagonally across his torso. He brushed his thumb over his swollen eye. He licked his split lips. "Pathetic.” 

When he walked into the living room, he found the curtains had been drawn and Potter was standing in front of the fireplace, pretending to read a book. He also spotted his wand on the table beside the couch he had been laid up on. Relieved, he strode to it and slid it into his pocket. Then he hazarded a glance at Potter who quickly averted his eyes down to the brown pages in his hands. The stuffy silence was difficult to sustain. So, Draco cleared his throat. "I-" 

"Breakfast?" 

He trailed off into incoherent mumbles. 

Harry looked at him, piquing a brow. "There's some in the kitchen," he added with a vague gesture towards the hallway. 

Draco blinked once, then nodded. 

Before long, the two men were seated on the bench of a long banquet table in the middle of an enormous kitchen, mugs of steaming tea and plates of toast with eggs in front of them. Draco kept his eyes on his cup as he clutched it between his hands, letting the heat warm him. Breakfast was a quiet affair. It was also a hurried affair. Draco stopped eating as soon as he figured he had eaten enough to appease his host. Harry ate very quickly to make sure he was finished before Malfoy. 

He gulped his tea and then set his spoon down with a final clang, startling Draco. "What happened to you?" 

Draco didn't say. 

Harry examined him for a beat. All those years spent in Hogwarts with Malfoy and he had seen this expression on him once and only once. This defeated, depressed and embarrassed expression had been very apparent on Malfoy's face just before Ron knocked him out with a punch after calling him a 'two-faced bastard'. All those years ago, Harry had reveled in that expression. Malfoy had deserved every bit of humiliation for what he and his family had done. Back then, Harry didn't think twice of leaving the boy to fend for himself in the Battle of Hogwarts. 

Ten years later, though, things change… 

Harry let out a loud sigh. "Do you think you should be seen at St. Mungo's?" he tried again. That was an innocuous enough question. Malfoy shook his head. Harry wanted to insist that he go because he was definitely not confident in his first-aid skills. But if Malfoy was feeling alright, who was he to argue? "Right then…" He drummed his fingers on the table. He had done everything he could do, he figured. "You can go home, if you want?" 

Malfoy immediately got up from the table. 

And hesitated. 

"What?" Harry asked. 

"Nothing," Draco answered a little too quickly while turning on his heel. 

"Wait." Harry hurried after him. Draco was striding up the narrow stone stairs with purpose, heading straight for the front door. "Malfoy, wait." He grabbed Draco by the arm and forced him to stop. "Where were you last night?" He peered into the pale man's face, trying to make out an answer. 

Draco wrenched his arm out of Harry’s grip, anger bubbling up in him. Savior Potter looking to fix things, as always. 

Harry tsked when he understood. Malfoy wasn't safe at home. "Do you have somewhere else you can go?" 

"Yes," Draco snarled. 

Harry knew that meant 'no'. 

Draco knew Harry knew that meant 'no'. 

The two men stood in the foyer. 

After the war, the wizarding population had been fragmented more than ever before. Dark Army sympathizers were run out of town. Most went into hiding. The few that couldn't escape in time perished in the hands of vigilante justice. It seemed Malfoy's time had run out. With no family or friends to turn to, he was well and truly alone in a world that no longer had a place for him. 

"You could stay here…?" 

Draco scoffed. 

"Just until we figure things out, that is." 

"No." 

"You can't go back home." 

"That doesn't mean I need to stay here." 

Harry was trying to stop his big mouth from running off on him, but he failed. "You don't have anywhere else to go." He winced as soon as he said that. 

Draco gritted his teeth. "Running a charity, Potter?" 

The things he put up with… Harry resisted rolling his eyes. "Yes. Hadn't you heard?" He waved his arms around him. "Harry Potter’s Home for Knocked Down Death Eaters." He scowled at Malfoy. "Look, this is between you and me. I don't want anyone to know either. God knows I don't need that kind of trouble." He added, "Besides, you should stay away from your place until you know it’s safe. I’ll look into it." Logic and survival strategies should work on Malfoy. He was a Slytherin after all. "I don't want your untimely death on my conscience." 

And that's how Draco Malfoy found himself alone in a spare bedroom with a bundle of clothes in his arms. 

He was asleep under the covers within seconds. 


	2. Chapter 2

When Draco awoke again, the skies had darkened. The clock read half-past six. He rolled over onto his back and looked up at the patchy ceiling. The old house creaked every so often, settling and perhaps complaining. His stomach growled.

He got out of bed, stepping on warped floorboards as he walked to the door. The bedroom he was in, that he hadn’t inspected before, had faded stripes for wallpaper, an old bed with a matching walnut wardrobe and drawer set, and no curtains on a window that looked out at a brick wall. Charming, he thought, as he examined the serpent doorknob before turning it and walking out into the narrow corridor that smelt of must and wet rot.

He found the stairs at the end of the corridor. Along the wall as he descended were more antique paintings of old wizards and witches. He ignored their snide looks, his hand trailing over the worn balustrade. The chandelier had strands of web hanging from it. The carpet was worn bare in spots by the doorways. Sounds of pattering rodent feet could be heard every so often from somewhere between the walls. 

An empty ghost  house .

The kitchen in the basement spanned the length of the house. Dusty pots and pans hung from the ceiling, above a long wooden table edged by benches. Draco flicked his wand at the fireplace to bring some light and warmth into the gloomy room. Then he poked around in the cold pantry, coming away with half a loaf of bread, a block of questionable cheese and slices of ham. He was about to make himself a sandwich when he noticed on the table a piece of parchment held in place by a cup of cold tea.

_ Back by nine – Harry _

Draco contemplated the note. Potter had left him alone in his house. That was incredibly stupid. He tapped his wand to the cup of tea, heating it up in an instant. Then he set about making a flimsy sandwich.

He sat down and took a bite of stale bread, funky cheese, and salty meat, using a swallow of the hot tea to push it down.

His eyes stung. His throat constricted. He blindly pushed the plate away and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes despite the pain radiating from his left eye socket, trembling from the effort of keeping the sudden rush of emotions that flooded him from coming out. He rested his elbows on the table as tears snuck out, spilling despite his attempts to staunch them.

How long had it been since he had felt this safe?

* * *

Harry eventually managed to escape the Burrow after the usual prolonged goodbyes, holding in his arms four containers of delicious food Molly had painstakingly made. “Yes, bye, goodnight. See you soon,” he said to the remaining Weasleys for the umpteenth time as he sidled out the threshold. Before he could be called back inside for yet another quick chat that began with ‘Oh, Harry, this will only take a minute...’ that somehow seemed to take fifteen minutes, he disapparated.

He arrived at 12  Grimmauld Place, barely able to open the front door with all the food he was holding. He struggled into the dark house and made a beeline for the kitchen so he could deposit the containers in the pantry. He found the basement as he had left it, but the cup was empty, the only indication that Malfoy had been up and about in there.

Curiosity got the better of him and he walked upstairs, pausing when he got to the closed door of the spare room. He raised his fist to knock, but stopped short. He glanced at his watch. It was already past ten. He let his hand fall to his side. Maybe tomorrow. He went to his bedroom on the other end of the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Draco listened to footsteps creak away as he lay on his side and stared at the brick wall outside the bare window.

Harry fell backwards onto his bed with a satisfied sigh and full stomach. Despite being as tired as he was, his mind still raced. All through dinner at the Burrow, his thoughts had been elsewhere, trying to figure out what his next steps needed to be and if what he was doing was an incredibly stupid thing to do. He had left Malfoy alone in his home for the better part of four hours. He had lied to Ron who had noticed his distracted air, telling him work was on his mind. He had tried to slip out at nine, telling Arthur that he had an early morning. 

Malfoy hadn’t told him exactly what happened last night, why he had been attacked, if he had returned the favor in any small way.

Harry had checked the  Auror reports right after he had moved unconscious Draco Malfoy from the floor of the foyer to the drawing room upstairs. He had found nothing out of the ordinary, nothing indicating an assault at all, in fact. He had checked again that afternoon. No one had reported anything. He had even specifically spoken to the Aurors who had worked the nightshift to confirm that it had been a quiet night. They said that the storm must have quieted down the usual troublemakers.

Draco Malfoy was a mystery.

* * *

The next morning, Harry awoke with the sun at seven. After a shower and shave, he was ready to tackle the day. Today was the day he would figure out the mystery of Draco Malfoy.

Confident, he approached the guest bedroom and knocked thrice.

He was met with silence.

He knocked again, but received no response.

He tried the doorknob, finding it unlocked. He opened the door.

The bedroom was empty.

After a few minutes of searching, he found Draco in the drawing room on the first floor. The regal curtains were thrown open to let in the morning sun. Dust floated in the air, visible in the beams of light that illuminated the distinct tapestry that took up an entire wall –  _ En stirps  _ _ nobilis _ _ et gens  _ _ antiquissima _ _ Black _ .

Draco stood in front of it, looking down.

Harry watched him for a while without announcing his presence. He watched Draco scan the beautiful and terrible embroidered family tree of one of the most ancient families in the wizarding world. He watched Draco reach the top of the tree, lingering over his own name. Or perhaps looking at his mother’s image stitched below his name.

Harry cleared his throat.

Draco, startled by the interruption, started and looked over his shoulder.

His black eye had healed sufficiently, now appearing as a purple bruise near his nose. The cuts on his lips had healed. Even though he wore one of Harry’s black tees and dark slacks, he looked more like the Draco Malfoy that he was used to – blonde hair brushed back, pale face pinched into a sour look, shoulders squared. Older, but the same.

“What’s this?”

Harry swept his gaze over the expanse of the wall. “What does it look like?”

“Why is this here?”

“I own it.”

“Why?”

Harry walked forward, hands clasped behind his back, trying to figure out Malfoy’s tone. He stood beside Draco and pointed up at a scorched mark on the tapestry. “Sirius Black,” he said. “He was my godfather. He left the house to me.”

Draco clenched his jaw hard.

Harry noticed and realization dawned on him. “You didn’t know.”

Draco looked up again, finding his name on the wall.

Harry rested a hand on the sun-faded fabric, feeling gold strands under his fingers as they glided over the trunk of the tree. “This is the House of Black.”


	3. Chapter 3

Riya Patel used the toe of her shoe to push aside splintered pieces of the door that was scattered inside the small flat. “Blown open,” she told her partner, Thomas Hale. The  Aurors stepped past the debris, now turning their attention to the damage around them. They didn’t realize just how much chaos could be made in a small one-bedroom apartment. “How was this never reported?” Thomas wondered.

“There’s a concealment charm around this flat,” Riya told him. “I dismissed it before you got here.”

“So how did you hear about this?”

“Got a tip.”

Thomas knelt down and sifted through the torn pages on the floor of the drawing room, trying to discern the writing. It wasn’t anything useful, just some pages from the Daily Prophet. He looked around at the destruction, noting the lack of personal effects such as photographs or curios. He inspected the walls and especially the splatters of blood across them carrying onto the broken windows. He collected the flecks in a vial. “We need backup on this one, Patel. A bit over our heads, just the two of us,” he said.

“I’ve already called this in. But I think we should get Harry over here too."   


“Isn’t it his weekend off?”

* * *

Harry was in his study when an owl swooped in through the open window and landed on the perch by the desk. He had been expecting this, although not so soon. He untied the scroll from the grey owl’s leg. It was unaddressed, but he knew who the note was from. He had also guessed what the note would say before he had read it. Unfurling the parchment, it read:  _ 114 Martindale Square, Barking _ .  _ Come at once _ .

Draco was still in the bright drawing room, where he had been for the past hour. He was staring out the window instead of at the Black family tree when Harry walked in while shrugging on his robe. Draco frowned at him. Harry said, “I have to step out.”

“Where?”

“Work.”

“Where, Potter?”

Harry didn’t say.

Draco felt a chill run through him. “No.”

“Listen, whatever happened Friday-”

“No,” Draco repeated, his voice remained steady. But his trembling hands betrayed him.

Harry saw him jam his hands into his pockets. He knew why. Draco didn’t want him to see what had happened that night. “This is what I do,” Harry said quietly. “And I’ve seen it all.”

“Why you?”

Harry smiled. “Because I’m the best there is.” He disapparated.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut tight, sinking down onto his haunches. Everything was  spiraling out of control... 

Harry appeared in the dimly lit corridor of the four-story complex, where the lights flickered, stairs smelled like piss, and there was a huge hole ripped off the door he stood in front of. The place was swarming with  Magical Law Enforcement  and crime scene technicians. Several walls had chunks ripped into them. The floor was covered in debris, broken bits of furniture, and glass. The kitchen had been destroyed, cupboards pulled off the wall, plates smashed. Books were strewn about the front room, burned clothes in the bedroom, broken mirror in the bathroom, a burst pipe flooding the tiled floor.

"Ah, Harry,” Thomas said when he spotted his colleague. “Thanks for coming in. I know it’s your Sunday off but-” He broke off and waved his hand around, because that was a good enough explanation. “Riya was following a tip.” He motioned for Harry to follow him back to the front door. “At least three assailants come through there. There was a concealment charm around the place, but that doesn’t stop them.” He then pointed at the kitchen. “I found some traces of blood in there, on a metal pipe. No body though. We haven’t been able to get a hold of the landlord.” He walked from the kitchen into the living room, where a bookshelf blocked half the floor space. “Most of the blood is in here. Pretty brutal. I don’t think this was a burglary.” He shrugged. “I doubt there was anything to steal in a place like this.”

Riya interrupted them at that point. “All clear in the other rooms.”

“Hmm... Then either the assailants took the victim with them or he managed to escape,” Thomas guessed.

“I assume it’s the latter,” Riya said as she stowed her wand in her robe and joined the  Aurors in the middle of the living room. “The mess in the bedroom and bathroom, it looks personal and vicious.”

“The blood has been sent off for analysis, we’ll know who-”

“Draco Malfoy,” Harry finally spoke. He was staring at the pool of blood just a foot in front of him. “Draco Malfoy lived here.”

“Who?” Thomas looked  questioningly at his partner.

“You know. Malfoy. The Death Eater,” Riya reminded him.

“Ah, I see. We’re thinking vigilantes.”

“Wait,” Riya held up a finger. “How do you know?” she asked Harry. “ _ We _ don’t know who lives here and we’ve been trying to find out for the past hour.”

Harry didn’t say. He peered out the shattered window, onto the street outside where a crowd of people had gathered, wondering what was going on. “Any surveillance cameras?”

“Yes.” Riya glanced at her notepad. “One around the corner north of here. I’ll get the footage.”

“Get the footage for the last week."   


“Sure.”

Harry examined the scorch marks in the bedroom, shatter patterns on the mirror in the bathroom, and the rusted pipe in the kitchen. That was strange, the pipe. “Maybe a Muggle,” he thought aloud.

“Muggle?!” Riya was incredulous. “No way Muggles did this.”

"Matches in the bedroom, a rusty pipe, the state of that bookshelf and the mirrors...” Harry shook his head. “I’d wager a Muggle or a Squib had quite a time in here.”

“Damn."   


The Hit Wizards reported that they had canvassed the neighboring residents. No one had seen anything out of the ordinary. There had been no noise complaints, or at least no more than the usual domestic disputes and screaming children. No one knew the man who rented out the flat. Low-incoming housing, everyone kept to themselves. The crime scene technicians were able to lift prints  off of some surfaces, hopefully that means some leads.

“I’ll put out a notice for Malfoy,” Riya said as she reached for her wand. Harry stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Huh? We need to find him.  He’s badly hurt,” she started to argue.  Harry squeezed her arm once. “Ah...” She moved her arm away. “Okay.” She exchanged a look with Thomas, and neither challenged Harry, simply nodding instead.

“Keep me in the loop,” Harry told them both. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.” With that, he swept out of the flat and  disapparated .

He landed on the doorstep of 12  Grimmauld Place.

For a minute he  didn’t move. Head  bowed, he took the time to commit to memory everything he had seen. After  almost a decade as an  Auror , he had learned that every detail, no matter how minute it had seemed at the time, could be important. Sights, smells, sounds – it could all be important. 

He also took the time to collect himself.

Draco heard the front door open and wasted no time in stopping his pacing to rush out the drawing room.

Harry was shrugging off his robe when he heard creaking above him. He looked up to find Draco gripping the bannister on the landing with white knuckles.

Draco watched Harry  drape the robe over his arm, his sharp eyes  unwavering . 

“Lunch?”

Draco swallowed hard and nodded.

Down in the basement, neither spoke as Harry set out the  leftovers he had  been sent home the night before – shepherd’s pie, dinner rolls, and steamed beans. He conjured plates and cutlery for them before sitting opposite Draco. Only when he picked up his fork did Draco do the same. They began digging into the hot spread.

Draco  couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten a homemade meal like this. He took measured bites, savoring each  morsel.

“Did you get a look at them?”

He shook his head and speared a green bean.

“Do you know how they found you?”

He shook his head.

“Do you know who it could be?”

Again, he shook his head.

“Draco.”

He raised his gaze finally.

Harry gestured at their lunch. “It’s  pretty good , isn’t it?”

Draco blinked at him.

Harry smiled. “Molly always insists on sending me home with food for a week.” He returned to his plate, pushing the potatoes and vegetables onto his fork. “I’m hardly home. Work keeps me busy. She knows I get sick of takeaways after a while. I say she insists, but, to be honest, I’m always hoping for leftovers whenever I go over to the Burrow. There’s nothing quite like mum’s cooking.” He took a bite, then grabbed the butter knife to cut open the dinner roll. “I’ll run down to the store tomorrow after work, grab some groceries. Let me know if you need anything?” He paused, watching for Draco’s reaction.

“I don’t need your pity.”

“Hmm.”

Draco gritted his teeth because they both knew that he  wouldn’t be where he was if Potter  hadn’t pitied him. His fork scraped against the plate as he aggressively scooped up the shepherd’s pie onto it. “Nothing like this has happened before,” he  muttered .

Harry nodded. “Right.”

“I’ve been careful. I’ve kept my head down. Chiseling away at my ‘debt to society’. Ten years of _fucking_ subservience.” Draco took a shaky breath to calm himself. “I don’t need your pity, Potter. I have plenty of that for myself.”

“Then you can pay rent.”

Draco  furrowed his brows at Harry. “What?”

Harry itched his nose, hiding his amusement behind his hand upon seeing the  incredulous expression on Draco’s face. “Like I said, I’m not running a charity.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

“Have you seen this place?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to  scowl . “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Draco scoffed. “You’ve got bloody rats in the walls, a ghost or two in the rooms above mine,  mold in the bathrooms, generations of spiders, draughty windows, floorboards with splinters the size of-”

Harry tsked. “I might have let this place go a bit,” he agreed, “but it’s not  _ that _ bad.”

“And the house technically belongs to me.”

Harry snapped his mouth shut.

“Blood relation to the House of Black,” Draco said, pointing at himself. “My name is on your wall.” He sniffed. “I reckon  _ you  _ should be the one paying rent. I’m not running a charity here,” He took an innocent sip of water to hide his  smirk as Harry sputtered in indignation.


End file.
